


Mini Mart Mind-Boggler

by Maust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dialogue, Dialogue Fic, M/M, it's basically canon, just... in a grocery store, possible triggers for abusive past relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maust/pseuds/Maust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Stiles. You are a </i>purple carrot<i>." / "And you're a sour lemon, get the fuck over it. I notice you're still here. Stuck on the shelf, just like everybody else, huh? Sucks to be you, sucks to be me, everything just</i> sucks." </p>
<p>Stiles and Derek are vegetables. In Chris Argent's store. Who kiss 'n stuff. </p>
<p>This is absolutely crack. 100%, complete fluffy crackalicious nonsense. Like, more crack than an addict. Or a Crunch bar. Just... so. much. crack. </p>
<p>So much crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mini Mart Mind-Boggler

**Author's Note:**

> Erm, brief mentions of Kate Argent/Derek Hale and all the triggers that creates.  
> Found this in my old files, so *insert ironic hash tag here*.

“Hey. Hey, you. Yeah, you. Pretty strawberry-blonde sweetcakes. You wanna buy me? Wanna? Hey, hey—uh, you. Wanna take me home? Please? So I’m not stuck in this hell for the next sixty years?”

“Shut up, Stiles. She can’t hear you.”

“I can try, can’t I? Hey, dude, uh, come back. Don’t let the mean lemon scare you off. Aww, come back. Ah… ah. Jesus, Christ, Derek, shut up, man. Not like you care. In fact, I’m doing you a favor, letting you live the rest of your life in misery. _You're welcome._ You should try letting out all that manly man-pain sometime. Does a body good. I mean, not that you don't look like a Greek god anyway, but-”

“You have something on your face.”

“Hey, hey, don’t touch the merchandise. And I do mean that literally, I just… haven’t been sold yet. That’s what’s supposed to happen to things like us, right? Right. We get bought. So, no. Hands off. What you see is what you get, sourpuss- puss. Persimmon. Soursimmon. Pussimmon.  _Pussimmon._ That’s what you are. Your face agrees, see? It’s doing that scrunched up thing. Jeez, be careful with your nose. It already looks like you’ve got worms. Ha, then no one would want to eat you.”

“I’m a lemon, Stiles. Not deformed.”

“Really. Well, then why are you always doing  _that_? Yeah, that thing with the face, that doesn’t look normal to me. You better be careful, your face will freeze like that.”

“Is that what happened to your mouth?”

“Oh, hey, kitty’s got jokes. Get it, ‘cause, you know, sourpuss? God, do you even understand how many innuendoes there are in that sentence?”

“Are you done yet?”

“Please, it’s like you’ve never met me.”

“Have I?”

“You’re being cryptic again, Derek. And you know what, there are plenty of people who would pay money to hear me talk. There are plenty of totally un-sour people. If you could just get OFF ME for one second, then I could just go talk to that nice apple over there. Mmm, she looks good. Rosy cheeks, you know, like one of those blushing virgins…”

“That’s too bad, because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m literally stacked  _on top of you_.”

“Good point. What idiot decided to put  _us_ together? I mean, I’m never going to get bought like this. It’s like, here I am, looking perfectly sexy, and then there  _you_ are, and everything I’ve ever done gets knocked completely out of proportion. Like, I’m stuck in the stratosphere, you sexy cat-lemon-creature you.”

“Stiles. You are a  _purple carrot._ ”

“And you’re a sour lemon, get the fuck over it. I notice you’re still here. Stuck on the shelf, just like everybody else, huh? Sucks to be you, sucks to be me, everything just  _sucks_.”

“You’ve put more than enough effort into leaving.”

“I’d be happy to push you off, but, you know, no opposable thumbs. Sorry. You’ll just have to wait for Psychopath, take two. Man, she took a  _chunk_ outta you, didn’t she?”

“Just. The. Stem.”

“Jeez, that must  _suck_. Literally. Hah. Because she… okay, sorry, sorry, too much? … Yeah, uh… she changed her mind rather fast though, I gotta say. What the hell’d you do, man, bite her back? Ha.”

“Yes.”

“… Wait, what? Dude, I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but you don’t exactly have what you’d call…  _teeth_. Like, grr? I eat you, you bite my ass- oh god, okay, okay, wow, jeez, back away from the Stiles, bad dog, no, Stiles prefers to live the rest of his carroty life in peace- well, obviously, that’s impossible being trapped under  _you_ my whole life, but at least a relative lack of the should-be-non-existent  _teeth_ would-”

“Shut.  _Up_. I’m not going to kill you, Stiles, calm the fuck down.” 

“Heads up, dude, that was my  _neck_. Felt an awful lot like your teeth on my throat, primed for, you know, ripping. Tearing. Ev-is-cer-ay-shun.”

“You were loud. Someone was coming.”

“What- dude! Yes, I was loud, I’m always loud, putting your teeth near my arteries is not going to make me _not_ be loud! In fact, it will probably make me angry. Angrier. And louder. And more obnoxious than ever, which, you know, is a big accomplishment, because I can be pretty damn obnoxious. Okay. And second, what the fuck do you mean,  _someone was coming_ , this is the type of thing you’re supposed to  _share_! No one  _ever_ comes to our aisle, and if they do, you scare them off with your  _face_  and your  _growling_. People don’t like it when their vegetables growl! You’re  _ruining my life_. What if she  _liked_ purple carrots, huh? Maybe I would have finally gotten to leave this dumb store! And then you’d be alone to grump and frump in  _peace_. In case you hadn’t noticed, being trapped with my entire back end  _under_ you isn’t exactly a conducive life plan.”

“What’s wrong with it.” 

“What’s wrong with- dude! What’s  _not_  wrong with that? Again, innuendoes, entire sentence. Someone, in some god-forsaken miserable world, is laughing at us and has devoted their entire life to making up jokes about you being  _on top of me_.” 

“So I’m not attractive. To you.”

“… No… no, wait, what? Is this a personal question? Because, I mean, like, objectively speaking, dude, sure. You’re smoking hot. Who doesn’t love a nice, smooth skin and wonderfully hard, uh, half-stem? But dude, you’re  _bitter_ on the inside, man. I mean, why would anyone ever want to deal with that? I mean, you’d have to be seriously fucked up to enjoy being smashed around your entire life, even if you  _do_ have a nice face. And, okay, so maybe you don’t have the worst sense of humor. But being hot does not excuse domestic violence, you know. I read a book once-”

“I’ve never hurt you.”

“What- what do you call  _ripping_ my  _throat out_?”

“It was a love bite.”

“Oh my god, you’re so full of shit,  _Derek_! I don’t  _even_ believe you right now. Can you even hear yourself? Because I can, and I mean, objectively speaking, you’re insane. And I? Am  _not_ objective. In fact, I’m not even sure I  _like_ you. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I’m as far from objective as you can get. Okay? If objective is here, I’m like, on the other side of the store. With the normal carrots. And the strawberries. Oh god, um, have I mentioned how hot Lydia is?”

“You  _don’t_ like Lydia.”

“Wha- dude, we have really got to work on your inflection. We’ll work on that. Right away. It’s a process. Obviously. I mean, okay, jeez, this would be so much easier with opposable thumbs, here, just open your mouth for me, okay? Say it with me. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat. Elongate the a, try again. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa- mmph. Mmph, mmm- mmmmmmmmmmm. Mhm, yeah, right there. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. MM. Wait, Der- mm. Oh- mmmmmmmm. Mmmph, MMM! Wait, wait, what, what, Derek  _fucking Hale,_ what- what the- what the HELL- what the HELL  _was_  that- that _fucking_ -”

“We’ll work on your inflection.”

“What the  _fuck_ , man, you can’t just  _do_ that! You can’t fucking  _do_ that shit and- I mean- I mean, fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck, I just-  _years_!  _YEARS_ , Derek, and not  _once_ have you said  _anything._ Do you know how much time I’ve had to- to- to- sit here, literally with my ass underneath your body, and just pretend I didn’t want to be all up in that?”

“Stiles, I wasn’t exactly being subtle-”

“I mean, do you know how much fucking self-control that takes? Oh holy fucking- wait. Wait, wait,  _wait_. Shit, LAURA, I am going to fucking kill her, is that what all those fucking cryptic comments were supposed to- ah. Ahhhh. What are you do-oooookay. Whoa, whoa, watch the face, that’s my selling face. I mean, point. Money. Hickeys are a no-no, do you want to ruin me for anyone else?”

“Yes.”

“Damn, that’s hot. Um. Mm. No, you can go back to that. But. No hick-IES, ah, ahhh ah ah ah. DEREK. My face does not approve of the bruises you’re leaving all over it, and neither do- okay, okay, we’re down with that. We are  _oh_ so down with that, oh,  _jeez_ , that’s  _definitely_ new. Or, uh, up with that. Hah. Jesus, Derek, hang on no, I mean, fuck, I mean, uh, I fucking mean, uh- I mean fuck. That’s what I mean, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuckton of fuck. Jesus Christ your  _mouth_ , Jesus fuck, and- ah, man, I thought you didn’t have teeth! That is definitely biting going on there. And down there, and, oh Jesus, Derek, fuck, fuck, fuck, stop with the growling, I’m  _new_ at this, in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s not like all of us have years of experience to fall back on. Don’t give me that, look, come on, I mean… are we really bringing emotions into sex? I didn’t think you worked like that, Mister Death and Gore and I-will-fuck-your-brains-out.”

“Your heartbeat.” 

“Have I ever mentioned that it  _sucks_ to be surrounded by living lie detectors? It does. A lot. It sucks just like I’d really like to suck your- hey. Where are you going? You realize you can’t get away from me, you’re literally trapped on TOP OF ME.”

“You  _really_  don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not really, no. Because talking about it means acknowledging that the problem exists, and I’d really prefer not to do that. It helps my constitution, with the whole face and stuff. Less medication, less stress, better for everyone. Happy New Year, Derek Hale.”

“What- what problem?" 

“Well, obviously it’s a big fucking problem, now isn’t it? And I mean, it’s serious. Like, you’d-eviscerate-me-if-you-knew-I’d-already-named-our-children-Rice-and-Spice-because-they’ll-be-Asian serious. My mind is a seriously messed up place, and it just comes up with all these crazy ideas that should totally never see the light of day. I mean, you can completely just forget I said that. It’s not like vegetables can get married or shit.”

“Married?”

“So I’ll just, uh, just throw out the wedding plans. Ah, shit, actually, I spent like three thousand hours on those… But you know what, it doesn’t matter, okay? It doesn’t fucking matter and it never fucking will, because I’m  _dealing_ with it, okay? I mean, I’m trying, I’m trying really fucking hard but it’s  _not working_ , and I’m sorry if your sensitive nose can pick up arousal from, like, New York, but I don’t expect anything from you, I promise. No strings attached, nothing to lose except fucking a virgin, Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah, all that jazz.”

“You want to have sex with me.”

“Bingo! Let’s get to the fucking.”

“But you don’t  _want_  me.”

“See, that’s the PROBLEM. And I told you, I’m  _working_ on it. I will be completely in-love-with-asshole-free by next… next Sunday. There’s a timestamp for it, because that’s worked so well before.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Have you been hit in the head recently by a blunt-force object?”

“No, Stiles, but I’m trying to understand what the problem is here. Because you seem upset, and what you seem to be saying is obviously impossible. So could you just explain to me? Please?”

“Holy shit, you said please. But you know what, no. That’s just too damn bad for you, because I refuse to tell you how I feel about you. Thanks but no fucking thanks, I prefer my guts inside my body, fuck you  _very_ much. My entire life’s purpose isn’t for your amusement at my humiliation, much as you might like to think it is. So fuck you, have a great day, we’re going to be stuck here forever and you’re never going to let me forget this, ever. We’re going to die old men, alone and bitter. I really hate you sometimes, you know? I do. I think I’ll stab you myself. Preemptively, of course, because I really like my throat attached to my stem, it really puts a fine point on that  _not dead_ thing.”

“Stiles, why do you think you’re still in this store?”

“Because I’m a  _purple carrot_ and  _nobody’s_ going to look twice at  _me_ when you’re right there. I’m really tired, can I just go-”

_“_ _They’d better not._ ”

“Better not what? Look twice- dude, you have  _got_ to get over that girl. She was no good for you, let it go. She was also a bitch, and if she ever comes back, just stab her in the eye or something. I’m sure you can find some girl that’s prettier, if you would just stop scowling at people I’m sure one of them would be happy to take you home. Then maybe someone would take me, because- holy shit, are you  _growling_? Dude, you need to get over it. You could have any girl on the  _fucking_ planet, so stop growling at me, Jesus, you really need to get laid or something, it was- fuck, I mean- it was, it was six years ago, and it- it- it’s not fair to you, you deserve to have someone who knows that you have six different angry growls and the face you make when you aren’t happy and the face you make when you are, and you deserve somebody who wants to see your grumpy face in the morning and in the night and that would be happy to live underneath you for the rest of his life- her life- shit, okay, okay, yeah, breathing is good, yeah. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.”

“Stiles.”

“Please. Stop talking.”

“Stiles. Could you shut up for just two seconds?”

“Yeah, yeah… ugh, I’m going to get snot all over me. And then no one will want to buy me. I’ll be all alone, stuck here with you and Mr. Argent’s cat. Forever.”

“It’s not the manager’s sister I want to be with.”

“Great. Flash a dazzle-me-Katie smile, get her to fall for you. Have a nice life. Leave me here alone.”

“Stiles, you’re not leaving. I’m not letting you go. Got it?”

“What? Dude, I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life. I have needs. I have, like, physical expressions of those needs. I just-”

“You won’t be alone. You’ll be with me. If you… if you want to.”

“I’m a purple carrot. I’m a screw-up and a weirdo, have you met me? If things aren’t broken when I touch them, they break the moment I breathe on them. And breathing is a necessary function of the human body, we read that shit in tenth grade.”

“You think you’re the only one? I’m a sour lemon with attitude problems and scars. But you make me… angry.”

“Thanks.” 

“You make me  _want_ to get better. Stiles. You’re annoying and stubborn as shit, but I… I… love. You.”

“Fuck. Fuck, if you’re fucking- you know what, I don’t fucking care anymore, just c’mere. Come  _here_. Come here, come here, come here, come here, you complete and utter  _bastard_.”

“Four years. It’s been… four. For me.”

“I love you, too. … Hey, Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave again.”

“I… I won’t.”

“Promise? I mean, because I can’t deal with that. I mean… I can’t. I will literally go out of my mind if you do that, do you get that.”

“Stiles. I promise.”

“Hehe. Well, in that case, let’s get this show on the road? So, you wanna top, or…”

“Stiles.”

“IT’S FUCKING TIME FOR FUCKING TIME! … Okay, yeah, that was bad.”

“Don’t worry. I still love you.”

“Love you too. Pussimmon. Ha. We have cute nicknames now, don’t we? Okay, yeah, fucking time. Okay, let’s, let’s just…”

“You know, Mr. Argent is going to wonder what happened to the store. Can we spell out vegetable sex marathon in peas? Can we do that? You’re fucking great at the cuddling thing, have I mentioned that? Have I- ahm, naaaah, aaaaaaaang. M. ‘M so… so tired. Love you, pussimmon.”

“I love you too, Stiles. I love you too.” 


End file.
